


Charity

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, Master/Servant, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written anonymously in reply to this prompt left in <a href="http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/">The Borgias Kink Meme</a></p><p>I would love to see a sweet, lighthearted moment in the otherwise dark and twisted sex life of Cesare/Micheletto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charity

**Author's Note:**

> After the scene where the two French soldiers were killed in 01X09

Cesare woke up in the wee hours of the morning, his mind swamped by sleep and his heavy eyes surveyed his surroundings. It was a round-down house or something of the like. They were in their way to Pesaro and they had to seek shelter when a downpour fell on their heads. The last day’s adventures brought a smile to his face; somehow that’s what he wanted for years, with all its violence and danger. His actual situation was better than his sheltered life wrapped in skirts!  
  
He stretched in the rickety bed, and groaned as his spine cracked with a satisfactory snap, an obvious sign of a restful night. His body just woke him up because he must get ready for the Morning Prayer; apparently nobody informed his body that his sacred duties were suspended until further notice. Cesare wondered how he sleep so well in this common peasant pallet when he was used to a big, canopied bed; other people might wonder how he could sleep at all when Micheletto was in the same room.  
  
The idea amused him and Cesare turned in the simple mattress, pulling his mantle around his body. The texture was wrong, this rough wool mantle was not his, but his henchman’s, and that made him wonder where his wet mantle went. This mystery made him sit on the bed and look for it. There it was, next to the window, where Micheletto hung his to dry. His gaze searched for that obnoxious redhead and found him curled at the foot of his bed like a big guardian dog.  
  
Cesare stood up and shook the recumbent figure; he barely got a snore for his troubles. Micheletto could as well be dead to the world after three days on horseback; the Cardinal didn’t need to ask, all the signs hinted at the fact this brute had not slept while his master slumbered. A heavy sigh left Borgia’s lips when he noticed Micheletto was sleeping in his shirt only, on the hard, wet floor at a chilly break of day. An immediate action was required.  
  
“Don’t get any ideas,” Cesare commented as he lifted Micheletto’s dead weight from the floor, even in his dreams his assassin was obliging enough to give a couple of steps. “I need you fit, if we are to lay hands on Sforza.”  
  
The bed creaked when Cesare let the body fell on it. Micheletto lay sprawled across the little bed, he seemed unaware of the change of his accommodations and, as much as his master wished his rest, he would not let him hoard the sleeping space. It required a little more of effort, but managed to push him to the side and make himself room to have a snooze.  
  
As Cesare snuggled up in precarious balance, Micheletto turned around and cuddled him up with a full body embrace, in search of body heat to warm himself up, no doubt. Cesare fought the urges to push him away, that excuse of bed couldn’t bear a struggle; besides, it was just a hug. He could endure this, by account of his henchman’s many services. They just need to arrange their position...  
  
Soon, Micheletto’s head rested against Cesare’s chest, who was trying to cover them both with the coarse mantle, a garment which proved to be inadequate and wanting in length and width. Even with all the added discomfort, the Cardinal Borgia found himself quite at ease.  
  
“I dread you won’t see this as the charity it is, Micheletto,” he mumbled, his hand stroked that unruly mane absently, as one can do with a favorite pet, “just a random act of kindness...”  
  
The timid Campanian sun found them tangled in the little bed of that shabby boarding house...


End file.
